Twelfth Night
by Ruru Kitsuneko
Summary: [Summary Changed] Retelling of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night Gundam Seed style. Twins Kira and Cagalli get seperated by a storm, with each believing that the other had died. Now, they must find love, before they find each other. AxC KxL DxM ANxAI
1. Courting Countess Clyne

DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 1.1: This is the first chapter of Twelfth Night. I've used the Gundam Seed characters to be in my own version of Shakespeare's play Twelfth Night, which is my very favorite among all his plays. I've watched the movie, but I haven't actually read the play, so I may diverge from the original plot a bit. I've tweaked the story around a little to suit my taste, as you'll see when the fic progresses. To those who don't know what Twelfth Night is all about, I'll place a list of the characters that will appear per chapter: who they are in GS and they're real names in the play. This is my first Gundam Seed fic (that I've actually written—I have a lot, but I seem to be too lazy to write them), so I hope you enjoy it!

CHARACTERS:

Lacus Clyne (Olivia) – a rich countess, mourning the death of her brother

Athrun Zala (Orsino) – the Duke of Illyria, in love with Lacus

Yzak Jule and Dearka Elsman (OCs that are not included in the original play) – the Marquis of Oceania and Baron Elsman respectively, friends of the Duke with whom he confides his thoughts

CHAPTER 1: COURTING COUNTESS CLYNE

"So," Sir Dearka Elsman began, his lavender eyes gleaming with interest, as he sat with his two closest friends, the Duke of Illyria and the Marquis of Oceania, in the Duke's study. "Has she said 'yes', yet?"

Athrun Zala, Duke of Illyria, shot his cheerful friend a sardonic glance and replied in a voice tinged with sarcasm, "Does it look like she has?"

Yzak Jule, Marquis of Oceania, snorted in irritation, his vivid blue eyes flashing his comedic friend a somewhat reprimanding glare. "I can't believe you're even asking such a stupid question." His gaze then swung to his blue-haired, green-eyed friend, and he bit out, "Why the hell is it taking so damn long anyway?"

"You're not seriously thinking I haven't asked myself that question in the past seven years, have you?" Athrun replied raising an eyebrow at his friend's question.

Yzak slammed his hand down on the desk. "Then why in the world don't you just forget about her and move onto some other woman, dammit! This is ludicrous."

"Not so, Yzak, my friend," Dearka drawled cheerfully, clearly relishing his friends' vexation. "If one is in love, one moves heaven and earth in order to be with the object of one's heart's desire, even if takes eternity."

"What?" Yzak snapped.

Dearka breathed a long-suffering sigh. "I said—"

"I know what you said!" Yzak hissed through clenched teeth. "I just can't believe you're seriously thinking like it. This is _not_ something to laugh about."

"I beg to differ," Dearka began in mock indignation. "I'll have you know, that the Countess Clyne is a very fetching woman—even in black." He finished this statement with a roguish wink.

Athrun couldn't help but grin at his friend's outlandish statements. "Too true. Too true."

"I'm glad you find this amusing," Yzak said coldly.

Dearka laughed. "He has to. Good God. Seven years! And she's still saying no. If it were me," he continued still chortling, "I'd have her abducted and—why don't you do _that?"_

Athrun's piercing emerald gaze pinned his friend. "I would never do such a thing without her consent."

Yzak snorted. "That's why it's called 'kidnapping', you ass; because it's being done without the person's permission. What the hell are you saying?"

"You know what I mean," Athrun replied in a meaningful tone.

Yzak sighed and flopped his head back on the headrest of the chair in which he was currently reposing. "What in the world do you see in her anyway?" he muttered. "And don't tell me it's because she's beautiful; we've seen a lot of beautiful women."

"He's right, mate," Dearka chimed in, propping his legs up onto the desk. "What does it have to be _this_ particular lady?"

Athrun's countenance turned thoughtful. He seemed to gaze inward for a moment, before answering slowly, " I think it's because" —he paused— "she's the only one I can see spending a lifetime with, without wanting to jump off a cliff or shoot my brains out."

"How wonderfully romantic," Dearka said dryly.

Yzak cocked his head slightly to the side and stared at his friend out of the corner of his eye.

"That's it!" he said suddenly.

"That's what?" Athrun and Dearka asked in unison.

"Romance."

"I beg your pardon?" Athrun asked startled.

Yzak sighed with impatience. "For someone who's such a gentleman, you're sure clueless about women."

"And you're such an expert?" Athrun asked raising his eyebrow in arrogant disbelief.

"_How_ have you been proposing to her?" Yzak continued ignoring his friend's smart-ass comeback.

"The usual," Athrun responded sardonically. "A note requesting for the honor of her hand in marriage."

"And you're wondering why it's taking seven years—and counting?" Dearka muttered the last phrase under his breath.

Athrun's glare was his answer.

'What an idiot,' were the mutual thoughts of Dearka and Yzak, though they were not aware of the other's thoughts.

Athrun must've been sensitive enough to sense the gist of their unvoiced disparagement of his own mental faculties—at least, where women were concerned—and showed it through his annoyed statement. "Well then," he said sarcasm heavy in his voice, "what do you two experienced connoisseurs advice a certain novice with that same predicament?"

"Court her," Yzak said baldly.

Athrun snorted. "And what did you think I was doing for the past seven years? Getting married?"

"Save the sarcasm, Athrun," Dearka remarked pointedly, as he tilted his chair on its two back legs and slowly rocked backwards and forwards using his feet still propped on the desk as leverage.

"Not the way you've been doing it," Yzak said impatiently, more concerned with getting his friend his supposed heart's desire and matrimonial prospect than in soothing his ruffled feathers. "Don't treat it like a business proposition. Put some romance into it."

"But it _is_ a business proposition," Athrun said exasperatedly. "I'm suited for her; she's suited for me. I'm not going to lie to her just so I can get her to the altar."

"You're not going to lie to her," Dearka said, restraining from rolling his eyes at his friend in exasperation.

Athrun was always straightforward and honorable. He stood by his beliefs and his friends, and he was the perfect gentleman to women, but then—that was the problem: he was, _too much_ of a gentleman.

"Look," Yzak began, speaking to Athrun in a tone that was reminiscent of a parent explaining the facts of life to his ignorant child. "You can't just _say_ you want to marry her. Obviously, she already knows that. You have to _show_ her, just how _badly_ you want her."

"You want me to sleep with her?" Athrun asked blankly.

Dearka smacked his hand against his forehead.

"Yes, why _don't_ you do that," Yzak said sarcastically.

Athrun opened his mouth to reply to that outrageous statement, but Dearka forestalled him. "Athrun, that's not the point. _If_ you can get that woman to marry you, you'll sleep with her anyway. But before you can get around to the wedding night, you have to get through the wedding first, and as things are going, it's not likely to come around anytime soon."

"So what do you expect me to do?" Athrun nearly yelled in frustration.

"Show her that you're serious," Dearka pointed out, elaborating on Yzak's simple explanation. "Show her that you can't live without her. Be romantic. Don't say _anything_ about marriage: that can come for later. Send her notes—"

"If I can't say anything about marriage, then what in the world should I say to her?" Athrun cut in.

"Poetry, of course," Yzak said in a tone that clearly said it should be obvious to anyone—who wasn't an idiot.

"Of course?" Athrun echoed.

"With flowers and trinkets," Dearka added. "Ladies _love_ flowers and trinkets," he drawled sending a wink in Yzak's direction.

Athrun quickly glanced from one to the other. Eyes narrowing suspiciously, he asked, "What have you guys been doing without me?"

The fact that neither of his friends could look him straight in the eye was answer enough.

"Right," he said in a knowing voice.

After a moment's silence, Athrun spoke up again. "Alright. Let's say for a moment that I'm going to follow your illustrious advice: how will I do it? The flowers and trinkets are easy, but Lacus loves poetry. Meanwhile, _I_ couldn't make heads or tails of it even if I tried."

"Then don't do it," Dearka replied.

"I beg your pardon?" Athrun asked, looking at him in disbelief. "You're the one who suggested it."

"I'm not saying don't do it," Dearka answered, taking his feet off his friend's desk and putting them back on the floor where they belonged. "Get someone else to do it."

At Athrun's blank look, Yzak clarified impatiently, "Hire somebody. You're rich enough. You can afford to get the best."

Athrun pondered on his friends' suggestion all throughout their visit. And when Yzak and Dearka took their leave the next day, promising to drop by again in two weeks time, he was still thinking about it…

A/N 1.2: Hope you liked it! Next chapter will have Kira and Cagalli. If you guys are wondering where Nicol is, I don't know yet. I'm trying to see which way the characters will fit as we go along. Ja!


	2. Separated by the Storm

DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 2.1: Here's chapter 2 of Twelfth Night. I planned to just use Kira and Cagalli in this chapter, but at the last minute, I decided on using Col. Kisaka as the unnamed sea captain who saves Cagalli a.k.a. Viola. I don't know if he'll still be appearing in later chapters at all, but it seems such a waste to name him, and then just never mention him again. Most of the scenes aboard the ship involving Kira and Cagalli were based on the ship in the storm scene in "The Magic of You" by Johanna Lindsey; not exactly the words, but the story flow. I had a hard time deciding which of their last names I would use in this chapter, so in the end, I decided to compromise. I hope it's OK. Thanks to Ryo Kazunine and RougeShadow for reviewing the first chapter.

CHARACTERS:

Cagalli Atha-Yamato (Viola) – a shipwrecked lady, later disguised as Caleb (Cesario)

Kira Atha-Yamato (Sebastian) – the twin brother of Cagalli who is later involved in the story

Ledonil Kisaka (not named in the play) – sea captain who saved Cagalli when she was washed ashore on Illyria

CHAPTER 2: SEPARATED BY THE STORM

The storm was fierce. The ship rocked and swayed on the ocean's waves as the strong winds howled and tossed and turned the ship in every direction.

"Kira," Cagalli Atha-Yamato whispered to her twin brother, worry evident in her warm golden brown eyes. "Do you think the ship will sink?"

Kira Atha-Yamato glanced at his twin sister from beneath his dark lashes, and flashed her a grin to wipe out the worry he could see in her eyes. "Don't worry. It'll be alright," he said at the same time tightening his hold on her shoulders.

The Atha-Yamato twins were huddled in the floor of their cabin with a thick woolen blanket draped over their shoulders. Kira had his arm around his sister, while Cagalli's golden head rested quietly at the crook of her brother's shoulder.

The twins were recently orphaned, and they both decided that since there was nothing left for them back home, they would travel and search for a place where they could have a fresh start. Everything seemed to be going well—until the storm.

Just then they heard loud footsteps outside their cabin door. "More hands on deck!" someone yelled outside. "Any able bodied man here: we need more hands on deck!"

"I should go," Kira said suddenly, as the footsteps moved away from their cabin.

"No!" Cagalli cried terrified. "I won't let you. The storm's too dangerous. What if something happens to you out there?"

"Cagalli," Kira said smiling slightly. "If I can help, I won't just sit here in our cabin and do nothing."

"I know that!" Cagalli cried tears beginning to well in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her brother and hugged him tight. "Please, Kira," she implored, "don't do this. I don't want to lose you, too."

Kira wrapped his other arm around his sister and hugged her back. "If I don't do this, we'll lose everybody in this ship." Placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her away so he could see her face, he added with a grin that made his lavender eyes sparkle, "Who knows, if I help out, we might all make it out of this none the worse for wear."

"You better come back," Cagalli threatened, still holding back her tears, as her twin brother walked toward the cabin door and opened it. "You better not catch a cold, little brother."

Kira laughed. "Keep your long blond hair dry, big sister. I don't want to have to dry it for you."

Shutting the door behind him, Kira walked out into the storm.

Cagalli snuggled by herself under the wool blanket, but it wasn't the same without her brother beside her. The cold seemed to seep into her skin more quickly. Before long, she was shivering. She tried to distract herself from the chill, by smoothing out her long golden braid, but after a while, when she found herself wringing it in agitation, she decided to stop. However, that didn't stop her from worrying about her brother.

A fierce bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, and although she didn't see it, she heard the deafening crack of thunder that followed it. In that moment, she was overcome with a terrifying certainty that if she didn't see her brother now—this instant—she'd never see him again.

Throwing off her woolen blanket, she rushed to the cabin door and threw it open, stumbling along the corridors towards the stairs that led to the upper deck. She almost broke her neck rushing up the stairs because she kept tripping on her long skirts. When she finally around on deck, she was almost blown backward down the stairs by a fierce gust of wind that was whipping the ship and everything above in every direction.

Spotting her brother pulling on a rope and attempting to tie it to the mast to secure the sails on the far side of the deck, she hurried toward him, unmindful of the danger to herself.

"Kira!" she called out.

It was almost impossible to hear anything because of the wind, yet Kira's turned his head in her direction, as if he sensed her presence.

"Cagalli!" he called back angrily. "What the heck are you doing here! Get back down below!"

When she was in touching distance of her brother, she threw herself in his arms.

"I had to see you!" she cried out, finally giving in to the tears she had been trying to hold back, though it went unnoticed because of the pounding rain that was pouring all over the ship and all it could reach that wasn't protected below deck. "I had to make sure you were alright. I felt that if I didn't see you now, I'd never see you again. I couldn't take the chance."

"So you took a chance with your life?" Kira asked angrily. He wanted to shout at his sister for her stupidity, but he couldn't because of the fear and worry he saw in her eyes. And with the twin intuition that was as tight as their bond as brother and sister, he knew that none of it was for her own welfare: all of it was for him.

The ship suddenly swayed alarmingly, and Cagalli was almost thrown across the deck if Kira hadn't grabbed her arm.

"Hold onto me," he shouted to be heard over the wind. "I'll finish with this rope, then I'm taking you back below. And yes—I'll stay with you."

Cagalli smiled in the rain. However, her relief was not to last. Just as Kira finished tying the rope of the sail to the mast, a huge wave rose up from the ocean and washed over on deck.

Cagalli screamed as she felt the wave carrying her away. She reached out her arm, and her brother's hand clamped on her wrist.

"Cagalli!" he yelled, panic in his lavender eyes. "Don't let go."

Cagalli nodded and tightly gripped her brother's wrist.

The wave receded and Cagalli nearly cried in relief.

"Kira—"

Whatever she had been about to say was cut short as another wave swept over the ship. Holding tightly to each other, the twins' eyes met and held: soft lavender to warm golden brown. For a split second the world receded, and it seemed that in that instant, they both knew—it would be the last time they'd ever see each other again. They very last time they would be with the other half of themselves. But the wave was too strong. No matter how tightly they gripped the other as a lifeline, it didn't prevent it from sweeping Cagalli away and wrenching her from her brother's grasp. The look of horror on their faces was profound. Kira could only watch helpless and hear his sister's screams in the wind, as she disappeared overboard.

The storm continued to rage all night over the ocean. Near dawn, the ship finally lost its battle to Poseidon, as it smashed into pieces and sank beneath the waves. The people who inspected the shipwrecked debris the next day believed that no one could have survived.

As the morning sun arose over the island of Illyria, the lone figure of an unconscious young woman could be seen lying at the edge of the beach.

Ledonil Kisaka, a sea captain who had docked on Illyria two days before the storm had hit, was walking along the beach surveying the wreckage that the waves had washed ashore. Spying the figure of the young woman on the beach, he rushes to her, and ascertains her condition. Sure that the girl was alive, he carries her back to his home, and nurses her back to health.

A/N 2.2: Well, hope you liked chapter 2. Next two chapters up will be Athrun and Cagalli ones, so stay tuned! Ja!


	3. Masquerading as the Man in the Mirror

DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 3.1: Presenting chapter 3 of Twelfth Night. In a spur of the moment decision, I decided on using Kisaka further in the story. What can I say? He just didn't want to be pushed aside. The mirror scene is from one of my short stories, which I submitted in class. The living the life of the dearly departed loved one was something I got from Yuu Watase's "Fushigi Yuugi." You know, when Nuriko took over her sister's life (I still can't think of Nuriko as a 'he'). Since I've already introduced Cagalli and Kisaka in the previous chapter, I won't bother with them here. To save time and space, I'll just list those characters that are making their first appearance in the story through a specific chapter.

CHARACTER/S:

Erica Simmons (OC who is not in the original play) – widowed sister of Captain Kisaka, and was also Cagalli's caretaker

CHAPTER 3: MASQUERADING AS THE MAN IN THE MIRROR

_Cagalli screamed as she felt the wave carrying her away. She reached out her arm, and her brother's hand clamped on her wrist._

"_Cagalli!" he yelled, panic in his lavender eyes. "Don't let go."_

_Cagalli nodded and tightly gripped her brother's wrist._

_The wave receded and Cagalli nearly cried in relief._

"_Kira—"_

_Whatever she had been about to say was cut short as another wave swept over the ship. Holding tightly to each other, the twins' eyes met and held: soft lavender to warm golden brown. For a split second the world receded, and it seemed that in that instant, they both knew—it would be the last time they'd ever see each other again. They very last time they would be with the other half of themselves. But the wave was too strong. No matter how tightly they gripped the other as a lifeline, it didn't prevent it from sweeping Cagalli away and wrenching her from her brother's grasp. The look of horror on their faces was profound. Cagalli's screams were blown away by the wind as she felt the cold ocean water swallow her in its depths._

_Cagalli fought with all her might to resurface from the crushing pressure of the water, but it was no use. Poseidon would have his sacrifice._

'_I can't breathe,' Cagalli thought struggling to take a breath. 'I'm going to die! Somebody help me! Kira!'_

"KIRA!" Cagalli screamed, bolting upright in bed.

The door to her room slammed open as Mrs. Erica Simmons, Capt. Kisaka's widowed sister swept in.

"Cagalli," Erica cried in distress. "Are you alright?"

Cagalli curled her legs under the blanket and hugged her knees to her chest. "Kira," she sobbed.

"Oh, my dear," Erica said, her blue eyes radiating sympathy for the young girl. "You had another nightmare, didn't you?"

Sitting at the edge of the bed, she wrapped her arms around the slender golden-haired girl sobbing her heart out and enveloped her into a comforting hug. She glanced at the doorway to find her brother looking at them both, sympathy in his own dark eyes.

It had been two weeks since Ledonil had picked up the unconscious girl by the beach of Illyria, and although physically, Cagalli was in excellent condition, mentally and emotionally, she was on the brittle side. It wasn't that she was constantly moping; she was actually doing really well. It was during the nights that there was the problem.

Almost no night had gone by without Cagalli having one nightmare or the other. On nights where she had none, she had lain awake in order to spare Ledonil and Erica the worry a nightmare brought.

As Cagalli sobs finally subsided into whimpers, Erica felt the trembling body go slack.

"She's cried herself to sleep," Erica whispered.

"Again," Ledonil said tightly.

"It's not as bad as all that," Erica whispered, settling Cagalli back in bed and smoothing the covers over her. "She's actually managed to sleep through a couple of nights."

"And you're sure of this: how?" Ledonil whispered back as his sister closed the door to Cagalli's room.

"I check up on her," Erica said slanting him a sideways glance from under her thick lashes. "There's nothing to do but to wait it out. Eventually, she'll get better."

It seemed that Erica's well-meaning prediction would come true, though the Kisaka siblings had no inkling of how Cagalli would solve her own problem.

A week later, Cagalli sat at the dressing table in her room, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. 'I do look a lot like Kira,' she thought absently caressing the surface of the mirror as if doing so would be like touching her dead twin brother.

"No!" she said fiercely, violently shaking her head as she glared at her image in the mirror. "It doesn't look at all like Kira, it looks like me. I can't. I can't look like this! I have to see Kira!"

Grabbing the scissors that was on top of the table, she methodically began to snip away at her long golden hair. When she finished, she glanced at the mirror, and said in a firm voice, "No. I still can't see Kira: the color's all wrong. I have to get the color right."

Reaching underneath the dresser, she grabbed a bottle of dye, and making her way into the basin, proceeded to slush her short golden hair with the dark sticky substance.

Erica made her way up to Cagalli's room to summon her for tea. She could've rung the tea bell, of course. But she'd gotten so used to checking up on their young guest, that she didn't bother.

"Cagalli," Erica called, knocking on the door. "It's time for tea. I'll come in and we can come down together." Erica opened the door … and received the shock of her life.

Erica gasped. "Good Lord!" she breathed. "Is that you—Cagalli?"

She was gazing at Cagalli's face, yet at the same time, it wasn't. Cagalli's long golden locks were scattered on the floor by the dressing table. Her short hair was no longer golden blond, but a dark chestnut brown: the same color as her twin brother's. Miraculously and inexplicably, her dark hair transformed her golden brown eyes to the clear lavender hue of her brother's eyes, turning her into his doppelganger.

"It's Kira," Cagalli said simply, looking Erica squarely in the eye. "I can see Kira now." Turning back to the mirror, she said, "Kira's gone. He can't live his life anymore. He was always there. I can't imagine what life would be like without Kira." Cagalli narrowed her now-lavender eyes and said fiercely, "Well, I'm not going to. I'm going to live my life as Kira would've."

Erica didn't know what to say. She had never seen Cagalli so determined before, in all the weeks she'd known her.

Cagalli's expression turned pensive. "I'm still not Kira, though. No matter how much I look like Kira, I'm still not him. So: I'll be 'Caleb'."

"What!" Erica exclaimed in shock.

Cagalli grinned. "From now on, my name will be 'Caleb'. I'll be a man from now on, Erica."

"I— I— I—" Erica sputtered, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, not knowing what to say.

"I won't be a burden Erica," Caleb said pleasantly. "I'll get a job. The Duke of Illyria's looking for a new man. I think I'll do well enough. What do you think?"

"I think you're out of your mind," Erica whispered under her breath, her blue eyes as round as saucers.

Caleb laughed. "Don't worry. I'll be fine," she said attempting to soothe Erica (which wasn't going to be happening anytime soon). "I've lived with my twin for 22 years: I think I can act like him well enough."

Erica gaped at her in disbelief. She had a _lot_ to say, but she was so incredulous at everything she didn't know where to start.

Caleb cocked her dark chestnut head to one side. "I'll need cloth binds and proper clothes, of course. A man can't go around wearing dresses; unless he's a queer."

Erica glared at her. She still couldn't say anything.

In the end, she didn't say anything. She got Caleb "his" proper clothes.

Ledonil had a _lot_ to say. And unlike Erica, he said them. That didn't mean that Caleb listened: no, sir.

In the end, he acted as liaison. Capt. Kisaka sent a message to the Duke of Illyria inquiring about the post. 'Was it still available?' Well, damn. It was. 'Meeting at Illyria Hall promptly at one.'

What else was there to do?

Pray.

Which was exactly what Capt. Ledonil Kisaka and Mrs. Erica Simmons did: 'Dear Lord, Why is Cagalli out of her mind?'

A/N 3.2: I hope you guys don't mind the sudden shift from drama to comedy. I didn't plan out the chapter that way, that's just how it turned out. Thanks to Ryo Kazunine for reviewing the second chapter. Thanks also to Ookami Fuu for the review. I really don't know who Feste's going to be yet, if he is going to be in it at all. They seem to pop out of nowhere. Well, hope you guys liked it anywayz. Ja!


	4. First Impressions, First Attractions

DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 4.1: Finally got around to finishing chapter 4. Sorry for the delay! This chapter gave me a lot of trouble because I didn't quite know how to get Cagalli to come across as someone who fell in love at first sight with _anyone_—even if he is as hunky as Athrun. So, I decided that 'first attraction' would do just as well. No new characters here, by the way…

CHAPTER 4: FIRST IMPRESSIONS, FIRST ATTRACTIONS

At one o'clock the next day, Caleb Atha promptly presented himself at Illyria Hall.

The butler led him to the duke's study to await his grace's arrival. After the butler had shut the door behind him, Caleb's lavender eyes swept around the room with interest. He had never been inside a study before; at least not one that belonged to a duke, and it seemed to be as much a library as it was an office.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Caleb marched towards one of the bookshelves at the right side of the desk and ran his fingers over the spines of some of the thick volumes. There were different varieties, ranging from intellectual discourse, academic treatises, business journals, and even poetry, plays, and—if his eyes weren't deceiving him—romance novels. Without thinking, Caleb pulled the book whose spine proclaimed its title to be: "Debauched by the Dashing Duke."

"You're interested?" a voice drawled inquiringly by the door, startling him into dropping the book on the floor.

Swiveling around, Caleb turned his head in the direction of the sound and found himself looking at the handsomest man he had ever laid eyes on leaning casually at the doorframe gazing at him with piercing eyes the color of summer grass.

Cagalli's heart fluttered in her breast, and the oddest feeling seemed to be creeping up on her out of nowhere.

Flustered, Caleb blinked rapidly and shook his head slightly as if to clear it, and asked politely, "Your Grace?"

"Graciously yours," the duke replied with dry humor as he made his way to his desk. Before he reached it however, he stopped directly in front of Caleb and in a quick glance that missed almost nothing, noted his appearance: the chestnut hair, the bright lavender eyes, the flushed cheeks, and the smartly dressed lean body, and the book that was lying face down by his feet with the title turned upward.

A wicked grin appeared on the duke's lips as he nodded to the book and offered a very brief review of the said reading material. "Disgustingly debauched."

Caleb's embarrassed flush, turned up several shades redder than before. His eyes followed the young duke's progress across the room, while the duke observed the other man from the corner of his eye. When the duke had sat behind his desk, Caleb walked the few steps toward it to stand directly in front of him.

For a few moments, they did nothing but silently look at one another, taking each other's measure by instinct and intuition. And in those moments, Caleb began to seriously rethink his decision to take this job: he had a sinking feeling that he would come to regret it very much. It was the duke who broke the silence.

"You're certainly not what I expected," the duke said baldly.

Caleb was so confused with the mixture of emotions bombarding him from unknown contexts and embarrassing situations, that he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "So are you."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Caleb could have kicked himself. 'This was _not_ the way to talk to a duke,' he thought utterly mortified.

The duke blinked for a moment; seeing the look of horror in his face, he couldn't help it: his lips started twitching, and then he started chuckling, his green eyes sparkling with humor. "You're quite amusing," he remarked.

Caleb's already churning emotions had another new one to add to the pot: anger. Which was probably why, he didn't think (again!) when he retorted, "I'm glad you're so entertained."

The duke looked at him again; but this time burst into hearty laughter. Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, he gasped, "My God! You won't bore me, that's for certain."

Caleb stared mulishly at his grace, waiting for him to regain his composure.

After a while, he recovered enough to commence with their intended business. "Athrun Zala, Duke of Illyria," was the duke's crisp introduction, his regal manner restored; and with barely a pause continued with, "Are you a romantic?"

"I beg your pardon," Caleb asked startled.

"Do you consider yourself a romantic person?" the duke qualified.

"I— I don't know," he answered a bit befuddled by the odd question. "I probably am," he added with a slight shrug.

Athrun leaned forward towards him. "Do you have any knowledge of poetry?"

Caleb gazed at the duke as if he had lost his mind. "A reasonable understanding, yes," he answered.

"How well can you articulate a conversation with a member of the fairer sex?" he asked his gaze intent.

"Flawlessly," Caleb answered, praying he'd kept any hint of sarcasm out of his tone. He must have succeeded because the Duke of Illyria gave a sharp nod and said, "You're hired."

Caleb's head was reeling. It was too much. Everything that happened ever since he'd stepped inside the duke's study seemed to be something out of some comedic farce, and it seemed he had no clue what his role was supposed to be. "At the risk of sounding completely ignorant," Caleb asked still eyeing the duke as if he'd grown two heads with a pair of horns on each. "What for?"

Athrun gave him a wide smile and said without preamble, "Courting Lady Lacus, Countess Clyne."

"What!" Caleb sputtered incoherently. "You cannot be serious, Your Grace."

Athrun gave his clearly agitated new employee a long look. "There's nothing to worry about," he reassured dismissively. "You're only to court her, not marry her."

Caleb was looking at the duke as if he'd never seen anybody quite like him before. "With all due respect, Your Grace," he asked. "Why aren't _you_ doing the wooing?"

Athrun carelessly waved his hand, his brow slightly wrinkled in irritation. "Been there, done that, seven years gone. It's time I did something different."

"Seven years?" Caleb said in a strangled whisper. "What possible objection could she have to your suit?"

"I have no idea," Athrun answered baldly. "She has never stated any particular reason or aversion to my person or lack thereof. She simply refuses me."

"Couldn't you just let it go at that?" Caleb asked a touch desperately.

Athrun looked at him oddly. "I'm sure it won't be that hard."

Caleb barely managed to suppress a snort. 'Indeed,' he thought in sarcastic irritation. He had a bad feeling about this.

Later, that evening at dinner, Caleb was relating the afternoon's events to Ledonil and Erica, who both kept glancing surreptitiously at each other (who were still praying for Cagalli to return to her senses—they didn't believe she was sane at the moment, though Erica was of the irrational opinion that it was all the hair dye's fault).

"I just don't understand why someone would persist on a courtship for _seven years,"_ Caleb finished a little desperately. "How could he do that to himself? And what about the countess? Is she so vain she wants to milk this for all it's worth?"

Erica blinked at Caleb's irritated tirade, her brow furrowing in concern. "I don't suppose it's any of your business Cag—Caleb. It is their choices after all. I don't see why it should bother you so much."

Caleb slammed his fist on the table. "Because it's ridiculous, that's why! He comes off like some desperate fool who's too persistent for his own good."

Ledonil and Erica glance briefly at each other: they'd noticed the same thing.

"Caleb," Erica began tentatively. "Any woman would find the duke very appealing."

Caleb snorted. "Obviously the countess doesn't," he said, his voice heavily dosed with sarcasm. She looked up to find both Ledonil and Erica gazing at her intently.

"What's wrong?" he asked looking at them in worried confusion.

"Any _woman,"_ Erica repeated stressing out the last word—leaving Caleb in doubt as to what she meaning she had been alluding to.

"And just what are you implying?" he snapped at her.

"Why do you care so much?" Erica asked cocking her head slightly to the side.

Caleb flushed with emotion. "Excuse me," he said tightly, standing up. "I believe I'm no longer hungry." Throwing his napkin on the dining table, he stomped out of the room.

"Wonderful," Ledonil said dryly, taking a sip of his coffee. "Absolutely wonderful."

Caleb was utterly furious; he paced for hours in his room like a caged animal, all the while muttering to himself about overactive imaginations.

"What the hell are they thinking?"

After a while, deciding that he'd stewed over everything enough, he decided to get some sleep. He settled into a position on the bed, just thinking of everything and nothing in particular, when his eyes caught sight of the romance novel on his bedside table. He stared at it for a moment, and flipped it open catching a few passages here and there. 'I should return it to His Grace,' he thought absently, as he relaxed for a bit, leaning back against his pillows. He was so comfortable he started to drift off almost immediately.

'The bed's almost as warm as the duke is,' he thought absently, remembering when he'd brushed against his grace when he'd escorted him out his study.

Cagalli bolted upright in bed, her lavender eyes showing her shock.

"No," she whispered, clutching the sheets with pale fingers and shaking her chestnut head in dazed denial. "It can't happen. It's not possible."

She finally fell into a restless sleep, dreaming fitful dreams—the few passages she had managed to read were invading her subconscious. She was the heroine in her dreams, with a shadowed face that whispered and enticed from every direction. She had to see him; she knew him. It was _him…_

When she woke up at dawn, sweat all over her body and her lavender eyes glazed, she knew that it _couldn't_ happen—because it already did: _she_ was wildly attracted to the duke.

It couldn't be borne. Nothing could possibly be done about it. She was 'Caleb' now. That was it.

A sudden thought made her groan and bury herself underneath the blankets.

Ledonil and Erica would have a fine time.

They've been dying to say, "I told you so."

A/N 4.2: I seem to have run out of alliterations for the chapter titles. (I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.) Thanks to Ryo Kazunine for loyally reviewing every chapter that I have so far posted. Thanks to Mrs. Nozomu Sohma for the insightful review, and to Finding Destiny for the most short, sweet, and sincere reviews I ever read. -grins- It was a rare accolade indeed. I hope I managed to convey the proper feelings here. Hope nobody's disappointed. Next up is Lacus—or possibly, just her entourage… Ja!


	5. Even If It's Not Mine

DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 5.1: New chapter, new characters. Lacus doesn't exactly appear in this chapter, but people who are directly involved with her are. I had a hard time deciding who would play the parts for this one. I _think_ I pulled it off rather well, but then again, that's just me.

CHARACTERS:

Aisha (Maria) – Lacus' attendant and maid

Sir Andrew Waltfeldt (Sir Toby Belch) – Lacy Lacus' uncle, rather fond of his drink

Sir Muruta Azrael (Sir Andrew Aguecheek) – a 'friend' of Sir Andrew, in love with Lady Lacus (or at least—this is my own twist—her money and title)

CHAPTER 5: WHAT'S YOURS IS MINE, WHAT'S MINE IS YOURS—EVEN IF IT'S NOT MINE

If anyone were to ask Sir Andrew Waltfeldt who his closest friend was, he would easily imply it being Sir Murata Azrael. Everyone in and around Illyria knew of their long-standing friendship, ever since Sir Azrael saved Sir Waltfeldt from being ganged upon by a bunch of drunkards and gamblers in a tavern when Sir Andrew had lost a good sum of money playing cards.

Normally, Sir Andrew wouldn't gamble that much—at least, not if he'd been sober. Though he could normally hold his drink quite well—he was a connoisseur after all—he seemed drunker than usual that night, which was probably why he _still_ didn't quit the gambling table when he was ahead—or rather, heading straightway to disaster. He'd been losing steadily, for some reason he couldn't comprehend or remember—he wasn't a bad gambler really, in fact, he was quite good—he couldn't seem to win one single hand. Pretty soon, he'd been pretty much cleaned out. He would've had had a knife on his back in a few moments if he didn't pay his gambling cohorts lickety split.

It was truly a hand of fate when Sir Azrael had intervened and paid off not just his game mates, but the whole tavern as well. From that moment on, Sir Azrael had been a regular guest in Clyne Manor: Sir Andrew's niece's home.

Technically, Sir Andrew Waltfeldt was Lady Lacus' guardian, however, since the esteemed countess was already at the advanced age twenty-two, there really wasn't much guardianship to be done. Add to the fact that she controlled her own fortune, what more was there to say?

That didn't stop him from being in constant proximity of the lovely countess however. By all rights, Lacy Lacus was still a very beautiful and rich young woman. In his opinion, he had to watch out for his older cousin's little daughter—even though she was hardly little anymore.

Which was probably why he absolutely detested Sir Muruta Azrael. The man was interested in his niece, and the circumstances were suspicious. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt that something odd was afoot. Of course, nobody had any inkling of what he was really feeling—except probably, Aisha.

Aisha, who was Lady Lacus' attendant, maid, and companion, was only a few years older than the countess and had in fact been a sort of playmate to the young girl when she had been growing up.

As someone who sincerely had Lacus' best interests at heart, Aisha knew almost everything there was to know about Lacus and everything that was directly and remotely involved with her, which was probably why she sensed Sir Andrew's reservations.

"Some more wine, Muruta?" Sir Andrew inquired his friend.

They were in a room adjacent to the Manor's wine cellar, a recent addition made by the countess for her uncle's convenience, sampling some of Sir Andrew's excellent wine collection.

"No thank you, Waltfeldt," Sir Azrael declined. "And please, call me Azrael. I find I quite detest my given name. It's not very commending."

Sir Andrew's brows rose, and he said blandly, "Oh, really? I find nothing amiss with it." He shrugged nonchalantly. "It's quite fine to my hearing."

"_You_ are not the one to hear it on a round the clock basis, my good man," Sir Azrael said with a wry twist to his lips, his cold blue eyes gleaming.

"True," Sir Andrew remarked. "Quite true."

"The duke has been quiet lately," Sir Azrael remarked offhandedly. "Has he given up on our fair countess, do you think?"

"I have no idea," Sir Andrew replied, swirling the wine in his wineglass before taking a sip. "If he sent another message, I believe he'll still receive the same answer as he has for the past seven years."

"Really?" Sir Azrael inquired, his tone one of mild interest. "Why is that, do you think?"

"I have not asked her, as to why she's refused his suit for the past seven years," Sir Andrew shrugged. "But in my opinion, it's because of her brother."

"Her brother?" Sir Azrael asked leaning forward.

"He's dead," Sir Andrew said bluntly.

"My condolences," Sir Azrael murmured, his eyes avid with curiosity. "I'm wondering why I haven't any knowledge of this said brother of the countess'?"

"You wouldn't," Sir Andrew answered. "As he's been dead neigh seven years past."

"_Seven_ years?" Sir Azrael asked, his eyes narrowing. "That seems to have some significance, yet I'm not sure…"

"Seven years, my friend," Sir Andrew interrupted, "Is the length of the courtship between the Duke of Illyria and my niece."

Sir Azrael raised his brows and murmured in a noncommittal manner. Drumming his fingers against the table, he half observed his friend open another bottle and pour a little bit of it in the glass he had been drinking. "How can you do that all day?" he asked idly, not caring the least what the answer would be.

"It's a passion of mine," Sir Andrew answered, his concentration still on the wine, "Unlike you, my friend, who seems to have none."

"I don't know," Sir Azrael replied slanting a glance at his friend. "I _might_ have discovered something to be passionate about…" his voice trailed off meaningfully.

Needless to say, Sir Andrew didn't miss the meaning of those meaningful dots at the end of Sir Azrael's sentence. His gaze snapped towards Azrael and held. "I see." Without looking away, Sir Andrew took another sip of the newly mixed wine and swirled it around. "Who might that passion be?"

"Really, Waltfeldt!" Sir Azrael exclaimed with a laugh, slapping his palm against the table. "What gives you the idea that it is a person I'm passionate about?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Sir Andrew answered abruptly.

"As perceptive as always," Sir Azrael commented, a sly grin on his face. "You certainly don't miss much, my friend."

"You're prevaricating, my dear Muruta," Sir Andrew remarked, corking one of the open wine bottles. "I'm beginning to think there's something you don't want to tell me."

Sir Azrael's smile tightened. He was annoyed at Sir Andrew for deliberately using his first name, after he had specifically said that he didn't care for it. "You're niece is a lovely young lady. She'd make someone a fine countess."

"She's already a fine countess," Sir Andrew said mildly, a slightly mocking smile in his face.

"Of course she is," Azrael said smoothly, not missing a beat. "But wouldn't she be happier with a _count."_

"Are you applying for the position, Azrael?" Sir Andrew asked bluntly, his smile still present.

"Indeed I am," Azrael answered, returning the same false smile at his friend.

Sir Andrew shrugged. "I'm surprised you didn't bring it up sooner," he said idly, as he returned the bottle to its place, and was choosing another. "I do approve of your suit, you know."

Sir Azrael's eyebrows flew upwards in patent disbelief. "Do you, indeed?"

"Indeed," came the answer.

Before Sir Azrael could say anything else, footsteps could be heard coming in their direction.

"Sir Andrew!" a high feminine voice called out. "Are you there?"

Both men whipped around to find Aisha walking towards them, her blue skirts swishing over the carpeted floor.

"Oh, Sir Andrew," Aisha began, smiling brightly at him. "Milady wishes to have a special wine for dinner tonight. Would you be so kind as to choose for her?"

"It will be my pleasure," Sir Andrew replied, smiling with genuine warmth at the beautiful woman.

"Good day, Sir Azrael," she greeted politely. "Cook has made your favorite dish for tonight."

"Did he?" Azrael replied just as politely. "Do thank him for me."

Aisha nodded, and turned back to Sir Andrew. "Milady is feeling quite restless these days. Nothing new has occurred since she refused the duke's suit last month. Everything is turning out to be quite banal. She has not been in the music room at all, and that is something quite odd in and of itself. I do hope she feels more cheerful soon."

"I'm sure things will start happening, my dear," he answered, handing her one of his best wine bottles.

"Oh," she said looking at the year on the bottle's label. "It's quite a good year."

"Of course," he replied, inclining his head at her. "Only the best for dear Lacus."

Aisha smiled up at him. "With you watching out for her, how could it not?"

" 'How could it not' indeed?" Azrael remarked when Aisha had departed. "You are quite the chameleon, Sir Andrew. Even I don't know when to believe you."

"One believes what one must," Sir Andrew answered philosophically. "Do you not agree that you might possibly be the 'best' for my sweet Lacus?"

"I might," Azrael answered, a gleam in his eyes. "If you would kindly assist me, then you can be sure that _I_ shall assist _you_ indefinitely."

"Mutualism?" Sir Andrew inquired.

"But of course, Sir Andrew," Azrael answered, a wide smile on his face. "But of course."

A/N 5.2: I had fun doing this chapter. I think it came out right despite my misgivings, but I'm still misgiving. That aside, Aisha doesn't seem to have much of a role yet in the story, but her time will come. I'm still not sure about the other characters, though, but we'll see how it goes. As to chapter titles, unnecessary as they seem to be, I had fun with this one. Can anybody actually tell what it means -wiggles eyebrows mischievously-? Thanks to Ryo Kazunine for pointing that out, and also to Mrs. Nozomu Sohma and purple1 for your support -dabs at her eyes-. I am truly touched -sniffle-! Using the pronoun 'he' on Caleb was pretty difficult at first, since _I knew _it was Cagalli underneath the Kira-like exterior (yes, readers—it's easier to imagine Caleb if you think of Kira, only with a slightly feminine air). I kept typing up 'she' and then deleting it to make it 'he' again. I must say I got pretty confused at times -sigh-. So, RougeShadow, you are not alone! Thanks also to Inulover4eva, cotton-angel, and akichi for your kind words regarding my fickie-baby: truly inspiring. As to Kira: we'll get there… don't worry… Next up is Lacus and Cagalli, and it's gonna be fun. Ja!


	6. Tea for Two?

DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 6.1: Finally got around to finishing chapter 6 (phew!). So far the longest chapter I've done (by a few inches), but I hope you all enjoy it anyway. Thanks to purple1 for reviewing; to Ryo Kazunine for the interesting assessment as well as the review (I didn't think about it _quite_ that way, but—well it was quite funny actually…); to Mrs. Nozomu Sohma for the review—as to your question about Andy and Aisha… well, you'll see; and to Cagallifan4ever: I'll take the review as a compliment. No new characters in this chappie…

CHAPTER 6: TEA FOR TWO?

Caleb Atha strode briskly along the driveway that led to the front gate of Clyne Manor. The duke had just assigned him his first task: deliver a message and some flowers to Countess Clyne.

Ascending the steps to the huge front door of the Manor, he raised the huge brass knocker in order to announce his presence. The door was opened by an elderly butler—who was no less stiff-necked and formal than the Duke of Illyria's—who when Caleb announced, "I'm here in behalf of the Duke of Illyria with a message and a present for the Countess Clyne," and handed him the duke's calling card, admitted him in the front hall with a very bland, "This way, sir."

Caleb looked around the huge hall. Though, the Clyne Manor was nearly as grand as Illyria Hall, the atmosphere permeating the dwelling and its surroundings had a slightly feminine aura around it that was soothing and calming.

"Milady," Aisha called out, as she approached Lady Lacus in the garden. "There's a messenger from the Duke of Illyria waiting at the front hall. Shall we receive him?"

"Another one?" Lacus inquired softly with a sigh. "It seems to me that that man does not have any understanding of the word 'no.' He's been very persistent."

"Shall I ask James to send him away?" Aisha asked her mistress.

Lacus shook her head. "There's no point in doing so. He'll only send more messengers after each one." She gave a weary sigh. "I do hope he'll eventually end this persistence and find another woman to court."

"Begging your pardon, milady," Aisha began gently, "but he's already courted you for seven years. I don't believe he'll be giving up anytime soon." Hesitating a bit, she added, "It's not of my business, but why _don't_ you marry him, milady? The duke isn't a scoundrel by any means."

Lacus gave a tiny laugh. "Contrary to what most people believe," she began, touching the white roses she had lovingly tended for most of her life, just as her own mother had done before her, "I am well aware of the duke's fine qualities. I have no doubt that he will make some woman an exemplary husband, but he won't be for me."

"How can you say so, milady?" Aisha asked with some surprise. "You've never met the duke before, have you?"

"I met him briefly while my younger brother was still alive, and found him to be a very kind man."

"Then what is the problem, milady?" Aisha asked again.

"He will not give me his heart, Aisha," Lacus said a touch sadly. "As much as I am fond of my uncle, I cannot say with absolute certainty that I love him very much. I care very much for you as well, Aisha, and I am so glad you've always been there for me, but… I am so lonely. I've lost my whole family already. You of all people know how much love and laughter filled this house when they were all alive." Whirling around to face her, Lacus said a touch fiercely; "I want that for my future! I want love: not a _suitable_ marriage. I do not hate the duke for his desire of such a marriage, but it is _not_ for me."

"Oh, milady!" Aisha sighed emotionally. "I do understand. And as always, I shall offer you my support and assistance as long as you need me."

"I will probably always need you, Aisha," Lacus said linking hands with her attendant and friend, "but I would not want you to put your own happiness aside for me. Promise me something: when the opportunity presents itself, grab it with both hands. Don't be held back by some mistaken loyalty towards me."

Aisha squeezed her mistress' hands. "I don't believe that will happen until _after_ you've found yourself your own happiness, milady."

Caleb was staring out one of the large windows around the hall, when soft feminine footfalls made him turn around. A lovely young woman with dark hair and sparkling eyes was smiling at him.

Snapping to attention, Caleb presented the flowers and the note to the woman. "Milady, these are from the Duke of Illyria. He hopes you will view it as a sign of his extreme regard for you."

The woman's eyes widened; soft husky laughter erupted from her lips. "Oh my!" she exclaimed delightedly. "You don't seem to be from around here. It's very flattering of you, but I am not the countess."

Caleb flushed with embarrassment. "Oh," he said mortified. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize…"

The woman giggled. "Not to worry." Giving him a conspiratorial wink, she added, "It'll be our little secret."

Caleb uncomfortably nodded.

"My name is Aisha," the woman said by way of introduction. "I am Lady Lacus' attendant and lady's maid. If you'll follow me, I've been instructed to take you to her."

Caleb meekly followed behind her.

Slanting him a glance, Aisha asked, "And what might your name be, sir?"

"It's Caleb," he answered.

"That's a nice name," she remarked.

"So is yours, miss," he answered back.

"Oh, just call me Aisha, please," she protested. "Everyone does. I'm more comfortable with it."

"Alright," Caleb nodded.

They had reached the gardens by that point, and Aisha turned to him saying, "I'll leave you now. She'll be with you shortly."

Caleb looked around at the lush garden. 'It's like the Garden of Eden,' he thought in awe. He gazed around at the garden, just drinking in its beauty, when a tiny movement by the hedge caught his attention.

A tiny animal nose poked out from under the hedge and sniffed around. Utterly curious, Caleb moved closer to inspect, hunkering down and crouching for a better view, and was startled when a warm furry body jumped out from it and straight into his arms, knocking him on his behind. The said animal began to sniff all over him, and before he could prevent it, started to make a nice snack out of the bouquet he had brought for the countess.

"Hey!" Caleb exclaimed. "Stop that. That's not your food."

Predictably, the creature completely ignored his protests and continued munching on the floral snack.

Caleb sighed. "Whatever," he said disgruntled. "Finish the whole thing, why don't you. You seem to be enjoying it a lot, little bunny rabbit." He placed his hand on top of the rabbit's head and rubbed behind one long furry ear, as it made short work of the flowers. "Well?" he asked, still petting the animal. "Did you like the irises? I don't know about you, but I think wildflowers would've been better. What do you think?"

"I think it's a wonderful gesture," came a laughter-tinged feminine voice, "and both Pinky and I appreciate it."

Both man and rabbit turned their heads in the direction of the voice, and Caleb found himself staring at another beautiful person: a pretty gamine-like face with warm cornflower blue eyes framed by long strawberry-blond hair, a gold barrette on one side, and a lithe petite frame draped in a light white and pink morning gown.

"Uh," Caleb began, slightly tongue-tied. "Pinky?"

The pretty woman beamed at him. "Yes! See?"

Caleb followed her pointing finger towards a bright pink ribbon tied around the rabbit's neck. "Didn't notice that," he mumbled under his breath.

The woman giggled: there was no trouble with _her_ hearing.

Caleb felt himself blush. This was getting embarrassing; it seemed to be the constant state he was in these days, was his disgruntled thought.

Still smiling, the woman gave a high, piercing whistle. Before Caleb could get a straight thought in his head, that did not involve him and the situation called embarrassment a.k.a. humiliation, six more rabbits came bounding out of the hedges; hopping all over the grass and of course, all over Caleb.

"Rabbits," he whispered in a dazed voice. "So many bunnies…"

"Oh, my," the woman exclaimed. "I do hope my little bunnies haven't made you feel uncomfortable, Mr.—" She gasped, her hand going to cover her lips and her cornflower blue eyes widening slightly. "Oh, dear. We have been remiss! We didn't introduce ourselves," she said brightly.

Caleb looked at her oddly. _'Now_ she thinks of introductions?' he thought bemused. He shook his head slightly. 'She's odder than the duke.'

Blithely unaware of the thoughts running through her acquaintance's head, the woman plopped on the grass beside him in a swirl of white skirts and held out her hand. "My name is Lacus Clyne. What might be yours?"

Caleb automatically took the offered hand. "Caleb Atha," he replied. He instinctively started to shake Lacus' hand, but before he could, changed his mind and lifted it to his lips instead, brushing a light kiss on her knuckles: more manly that way.

Lacus certainly thought so. She gave him a charming smile. "Oh, Mr. Atha," she beamed. "You have the loveliest manners."

"Not really," Caleb mumbled uncomfortably.

Lacus tipped her strawberry-blond head to the side, as she regarded him thoughtfully. "You do seem to be quite as uncomfortable with compliments as you are with my dear bunnies."

Caleb shifted slightly. He was still besieged with the countess' dear bunny rabbits: they seemed to find him particularly toothsome.

"Although you are rather good with them," she continued, her seemingly guileless cornflower blue eyes intent, "and they seem to like you very much."

"I don't know about that, milady," Caleb murmured, a wry look in his lavender eyes.

"Please," she interjected smiling. "Just call me Lacus."

If Caleb had been thinking clearly, he would have declined with all possible haste, however— "I suppose you should call me by my name then, if I'm to call you by yours."

Lacus clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh, can I?" she breathed. "That would be wonderful."

Caleb couldn't help smiling back at her. "Yes, mi—Lacus."

"Do you know what would be even more wonderful?" she asked leaning towards him in a conspiratorial manner.

"What?" Caleb asked perplexed, as he lifted two rabbits—one with a pink ribbon and another with a blue ribbon around their necks—to his chest to prevent them from twitching all over him—as the other ones were doing.

"Some tea!" she cheerfully answered.

"Tea?" he asked blankly.

"Of course! Don't you think so?" she inquired.

"I suppose so," Caleb answered bemused. "Although… I feel as though I'm forgetting something…"

"I'm sure it'll come back to you," she assured him, and then, _"After_ you've had some tea _and_ some of Cook's delicacies: they're absolutely delicious!"

"I really don't think—"

Lady Lacus jumped to her feet and came running in the direction of the Manor.

That was when he remembered: the message!

"Wait!" Caleb called out. "Lacus! Come back." —a sigh— "This is just wonderful," he muttered slightly irritated (with himself), "I should just hand in my notice; I'll get the boot anyway."

Glancing ruefully at the countess' slender retreating form, Caleb gave another sigh. 'I might as well stay for tea,' he thought disgruntled. 'I can give her the message then. Where is it by the way?' Looking quickly around him, Caleb spotted the missive—being sniffed by a rabbit with a navy blue ribbon around its neck—and promptly yanked it away. "Oh, no, bunny!" he threatened. "You're not snacking on this one, too."

The said rabbit looked reproachfully at him for depriving him of _his_ teatime snack. Caleb glared at it, and it seemed to sniff in indignation, before hopping onto him as well. Caleb groaned. "I wish your mistress was as interested in the duke's message as you all seem to be with me."

As wishes went, it was extremely futile. During tea, Lacus politely accepted the message, saying she would read it in private. The rest of it, she spent inquiring after Caleb, who found himself blurting out information at her prodding—thank God, he still had the wits about him to keep the whole thing straight in his mind.

The only thing of actual fact that he didn't feel reluctant to talk about was his brother's death. He didn't go into any specific details—just the mention that he had lost his brother. The countess responded with surprising empathy—she had lost her brother as well. It seemed to have brought them closer, though Caleb had the lingering feeling this rapport between them was _not_ going in the right direction—he just wasn't sure where, at the moment.

And he wondered vaguely: was anything really going in the way it ought to?

Only fate will decide—and it seems to be deciding soon enough…

A/N 6.2: This concludes Act I of Twelfth Night. Finally! -mops brow- -clears throat- I don't know if any of you made the connection… Well, in GS Lacus has her Haros to keep her company, so I decided I had to create a real-life version. Initially, I had no clue what animal to use—it's not like Kira's Birdie, which you can just turn into a real bird—I mean, what could possibly be the equivalent of the Haros? My sis Pei-chan (author of the ongoing Naruto fic: Forgotten Past—it's good, even if she has lousy grammar—for the first few chapters or so—she improved in time) suggested cats at first, but I thought it didn't quite fit. So she suggested rabbits, which I found perfect because of their ears: they kinda flap like the Haros'. Sweet…! Anyway, I seem to be rambling… Up next is the guy you've all been waiting for: premiering in the starting chapter of Act II -drumrolls- Kira! Ja!


	7. Survivors of the Sea

DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 7.1: Starting Act II off with a bang with Kira's return (from the dead?). Thanks to Mrs. Nozomu Sohma for the review: I'm glad you liked the rabbit-Haro portrayal. Thanks also to Silver Water 7 for the review: I went to the site—nice. And of course, thanks to purple1 and Ryo Kazunine for your reviews. Again: think of Kira when I say Caleb—only it's Cagalli inside, ya know?

CHARACTERS:

Sai Argyle (Antonio) – the sea captain who rescues Kira

Flay Allster (OC who is not in the original play) – Sai's young ward who is infatuated with Kira

Miriallia Koenig (OC who is not in the original play) – Sai's widowed cousin yes, she was married to Tolle

CHAPTER 7: SURVIVORS OF THE SEA

"Kira!"

Kira Atha-Yamato gave a surprised yelp as a warm body threw itself against him knocking him back into his bed.

"Flay," he groaned in exasperation.

A high feminine giggle muffled against his chest was the response. Fifteen-year-old Flay Allster grinned impishly back at him, her pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've got you now, Kira. Now you have to spend the day with me," she announced smugly.

Before Kira had a chance to reply to that outrageous statement, a voice bellowed from the doorway— "Flay! For God's sake! Couldn't you wait 'til the man was fully dressed before you pounced on him?" Sai Argyle snapped irritably to his ward.

Flay turned to her guardian and stuck out her tongue at him. Sai snorted, while Kira's lips twitched with laughter.

"If you both don't mind," Kira ruefully began, "I'd like to get decent now and get down to breakfast."

Flay leaned even closer. "I'll feed you breakfast, Kira," she cooed.

Sai rolled his eyes. His young ward had been infatuated with their guest ever since he had pulled him out of the ocean where he had been unconscious and clinging to a broken piece of wood after the shipwreck and brought him back to his home.

Though only 22, Sai was already captain of his own ship, which was how he came to save Kira at the exact moment that he needed saving. Sai's ship was also caught in the storm, but unlike the ship that Kira was on, it managed to get through safely to Illyria.

"I'll dress you up, too, if you like," Flay continued, completely ignoring Sai.

"Oh, for the love of God!" Sai groaned. He started towards them and plucked his young ward off of his houseguest, wherein she began shrieking like a banshee. Holding her underneath the crook of his arm as she called him all sorts of unflattering names, Sai said to Kira, "I'll leave you now to get dressed in peace. And you" —he snarled at Flay— "grow up!"

Kira stared in bemusement as the bedroom door closed on Flay's screeches, which receded in volume as Sai went further away—probably to dump her back in her room, preferably under lock-and-key; but he was such a softie, he wouldn't.

Flay had been orphaned nearly two years ago when her father's ship was caught in a storm and sank leaving only a handful of survivors. It was a pity her father, George Allster, wasn't one of them. She had then been given under the guardianship of Sai Argyle. Flay was always a handful, and for all Sai's bluster, Kira knew he was very fond of his ward.

He shook his head as he continued getting dressed for the day. Argyle House was lively and happy—even though it was a tad noisy. He didn't mind: it helped him keep his mind off his nightmares. Some nights he actually managed to sleep through the night without being plagued by dreams; most nights all he could hear were her screams. Lately, he'd taken to dreaming about their younger days, waking up with tears of nostalgia blurring his vision of the ceiling—not that it was in any way remarkable.

When he finally appeared at the breakfast room, he found only his host, whose face was hidden behind a large newspaper.

"So," Kira began conversationally, as he reached for a muffin, "How'd it go?"

"She's still alive," Sai said dryly, still behind his newspaper.

Kira's lips twitched. "I see," he said gravely.

Sai brought down the paper halfway down and peered at his guest through his oval glasses. "One day, I'll _really_ kill her," he stressed.

"Of course you will," Kira answered still gravely.

"I'll give her a nice funeral, too," Sai continued.

"Right," Kira said biting into the muffin. "Don't forget the flowers. What's her favorite again?"

"Venus fly-trap," Sai muttered, under his breath.

Kira choked on his food at his friend's statement. But before he further embarrass himself by spitting his breakfast in his host's face, the butler announced— "Mrs. Miriallia Koenig."

Sai's head snapped in the direction of the doorway as a pretty woman with short brown blonde hair and dazzling turquoise eyes swept into the room. Getting to his feet, he greeted mildly, "Good day to you, cousin. And pray tell, what brings you to visit me all the way over here at Argyle House?"

Miriallia gave him a brief glance before turning her attention towards a now sputtering Kira. Assessing the situation, she deftly poured some water into a glass and thrust it towards him. Gulping down the water somewhat restored Kira to some semblance of normality. Murmuring his thanks, and receiving a brief nod of acknowledgment in return, he tried to blend into the background as his savior started pacing the floor with only a brief— "How is Flay?" —for a greeting.

"Still a brat," Sai answered flippantly, expecting some sort of retort—and was quite surprised to find none forthcoming. His cousin continued to pace the breakfast room floor, which he found odd—added to which, he noticed the unusual brightness in her turquoise eyes, and the slight flush in her cheeks.

Getting a bit tired of watching her pace, and already irritated by a very bratty Flay, he inquired flippantly, "Are you having an affair?"

Both men were quite unprepared for her reaction to the innocent question.

Miriallia whirled to face him, and snarled, "An affair? What gives you that idea? Do I look that desperate? I'm telling you I'm _not!_ He thinks he's so handsome—who does he think he is: Adonis?" —a deriding sniff— "Hardly. He doesn't even look anything special. And his attitude! That cocksure bastard, the next time I see him, he'll see. He'll wish he never crossed me, I swear to God." And without further ado, she swept out of the room in a flurry of skirts and stomped out of the house.

Sai and Kira stared unblinkingly at the door she had departed from for a few minutes in complete silence.

"What was that?" Kira asked shocked.

"I have no idea," Sai answered genuinely bewildered.

"I'm telling you now, I wouldn't want to be whoever she was talking about," Kira remarked with a slight shudder. His brow furrowing slightly, he turned to his friend and added, "I thought she was the quiet sort."

Sai gave his head a slight shake. "I don't know what's come over her: but it's probably a good thing."

"You call her having a conniption fit 'a good thing'?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You don't understand," Sai answered, his voice low, "You weren't here when Tolle—her husband—died. She was a mess. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep; all she did was cry." He swallowed convulsively. "There were a few moments when I thought she might kill herself. At other times, she just stared blankly at nothing; she stared through everyone that tried to talk to her as if they weren't there. I thought she would lose her mind. She's been getting it together, but" —his lips twisted in a slightly bitter smile— "she's not the same person she used to be."

"Nobody is," Kira said flatly. "No person will ever be the same when the person the love dies."

Sai glanced at his friend and saw the raw pain in his lavender eyes. He looked away quickly—it seemed to be something too private for him to intrude upon. He drew a shuddering breath and continued, "I don't expect her to be. Six months a widow after six months of being a bride. Life is not fair."

Kira drew in a sharp breath. "They barely had enough time," he murmured.

"I wouldn't say that," Sai continued, as he poured himself a glass of milk. The topic they were discussing needed something stronger to digest it with—but it was still too early in the morning for strong spirits. "They were childhood friends. They could've married a long time ago, I suppose, but Tolle wanted to be more stable for Miriallia, so they waited 'til he managed to accumulate funds and then some."

"How did he die?" Kira asked quietly. "Was he ill?"

"No," Sai said curtly, "He died in a shipwreck."

Kira's hands clenched convulsively at that piece of information.

"He was also a sea captain, did I tell you that?" Sai inquired his friend. Kira shook his head, though Sai didn't seem to require an answer. "He was a better captain than me, but the storm was stronger that night or something. His ship crashed into the rocks. No survivors. We recovered the body a week later: it wasn't a pretty sight," he finished grimly.

Kira paled slightly. He often wished he would find Cagalli: anything to bring a sense of closure to the feeling of loss that seemed to eat at his soul. Now he wondered if it was a blessing that he _hadn't_ found her at all. Perhaps it was; perhaps it wasn't. It was one of the things that invaded his thoughts whenever he let his mind wander. He wished he could find an answer. He wished he would find closure. He wished that his beloved twin sister would find happiness wherever she was. And most of all, he wished—

That she were alive. So he could stop thinking at odd moments that it wouldn't be so bad if he died—if it would mean being with his other half again.

The only thing that stopped him; was the knowledge that if _he_ had died, and _she_ had lived, he would want her to keep living, because it was just so hard for him to imagine a world without her in it.

A/N 7.2: Hope you all like it. I did anyway. The story's gonna take a few twists and turns from here on out. Up next is Cagalli, and Athrun, and Yzak, Dearka… Well, you guys get the picture. For the record: I don't like Flay. She's here because… Well. You'll see… Hmmm… I need to think of a better summary…


	8. Trouble on Delivery

DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 8.1: This is a pretty intense chapter. Don't fall off your seats.

CHAPTER 8: TROUBLE ON DELIVERY

Caleb Atha's report to the Duke of Illyria regarding his audience with Lacus—Countess Clyne—left a lot of room for interpretation.

He had been so flustered and on edge during his accounting of the visit's events that he failed to realize he'd been calling the countess by her given name halfway through his recitation. When he had somewhat finished, the duke raised his hand—

"Correct me, if I'm wrong," Athrun began, "but did you just say 'Lacus'?"

The disbelief in his tone made the color drain from Caleb's face. 'Oh, God,' was his horrified thought. He had completely no realization of half the words coming out of his mouth. "Your Grace," he nervously began. "This is— That is— Well— Lacus—the countess—bade me to make use of her name—given name—and, it would've been rude not to— Thai is to say— I mean—" _'What_ do I mean?' he thought desperately.

"I see," Athrun replied; his green eyes piercing Caleb with their scrutiny. He was silent for a moment, then— "I suppose she does have a point," he mussed.

"What?" Caleb asked, his eyes wide with shock. 'What point? That he should just give up before his rejected proposals number eight? I seem to be missing something here…'

"_You_ should call me by my given name as well," Athrun stated.

"I should?" Caleb parroted.

The duke's right eyebrow rose superciliously. "Do you have a problem addressing me with my name, 'Caleb'?"

Caleb's pale face flooded with color—whether it was because of the duke's blunt question or because he looked so devastatingly attractive when he raised his eyebrow, he wasn't exactly sure. "I don't know," he breathed blankly.

"Come again?" asked the duke.

Caleb mumbled something under his breath.

"Are you, perchance, going mute, Caleb?" the duke inquired.

"I said there would be no problem, Athrun!" he answered loudly.

"There's no need to shout," Athrun remarked dryly. "I can hear my name just fine."

Caleb was torn between wanting to throttle him, and wanting to stomp off the premises and kiss his employment a joyous goodbye once and for all. Of the two, he'd say the former would be the most appealing choice at the moment: the duke—Athrun—would make a handsome corpse.

Athrun interrupted his morbid thought processes by remarking, "All in all, I'd say your visit went very well, indeed."

"Indeed," Caleb parroted. Crossing his arms across his chest, he challenged, "And what, pray tell, makes you come to this august conclusion?"

"She seemed to like you," Athrun answered, beaming.

'You really shouldn't say that,' Caleb thought with an inaudible laughing gasp. He still had a bad feeling about the tea—not that it wasn't excellent—it was, but that wasn't the point.

"We'll leave her hanging for a while," Athrun continued, oblivious to his employee's less than confident thoughts regarding the whole bloody courtship. "It's better not to be too pushy. That maybe why she's refused all these years. Let's just find some other ideas for my next message." So saying, he rose from his desk and made his way towards the bookshelves.

For the next half hour, both of them browsed through the books without any particular urgency, since it wasn't imperative for them to finish today.

Caleb was idly thumbing the book he was holding, when a particularly striking passage caught his eye. "Athrun," he called out. "Take a look at this."

Athrun stepped towards him and looked at the passage he was indicating in the book over his shoulder. He unwittingly took a deep breath, and was assailed by a pleasant scent emanating from Caleb, which caused a jolt to pass through his body. He blinked rapidly to clear his head, thankful Caleb seemed to find nothing out of the ordinary. He attempted to concentrate on what Caleb was showing him, but something seemed to be blocking it from entering his brain. He finally blurted— "Do you wear perfume?"

Caleb looked at him oddly. Why not? What kind of question was _that?_ "Uh, no."

"Right," Athrun said briskly, attempting to revert back to his dignified state—which he totally failed, as he muttered almost under his breath, "Then I do wonder why you smell so good?"

Caleb looked at him as if he was insane—he probably was, though. This was _his_ fault anyway—damn, but he smelled good. "I take baths," he answered softly.

"Baths, of course," Athrun answered jerkily.

"Did _you_ have your bath today?" Caleb inquired politely.

"Of course I did," Athrun snapped back.

Caleb's lavender eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned. He reached out his hand towards Athrun's forehead saying, "You might be running a fever—"

Athrun grabbed his wrist and jerked—the wrong way: Caleb's face was now barely an inch from his. He looked closely at his face—more precisely, his mouth. He could feel a light breath every time he breathed out—it smelled good, too. He could almost kiss—

Utterly horrified at his train of thought, Athrun reacted reflexively: he gripped both Caleb's arms and pushed him away from him—too hard.

Caleb yelled, as the momentum propelled him backwards, sending him crashing onto the desk, sliding over and falling with a hard 'thud' on the other side, just as the door opened and Yzak Jule, the Marquis of Oceania, walked in.

Yzak stared in astonishment at the scene he had just witnessed. He had finished his business early and decided to make good time by returning to Athrun's earlier for their visit, though he had to almost drag Dearka, Baron Elsman, into accompanying him. His friend seemed to be preoccupied with something, but he was more worried about Athrun and so didn't think much about it. He glanced at his friend and said the first thing that came to mind. "What is this: a lover's quarrel?" he asked with astonished sarcasm.

Wrong thing to say…

Athrun, still reeling from the unprecedented emotions that seemed to be assailing him from all directions, didn't think twice—he grabbed a thick hardbound book and hurled it with all his might towards Yzak.

Though surprised, Yzak's quick reflexes allowed him to dodge to the side as it flew past him—and hit Dearka square on, knocking him unconscious.

The other three occupants in the room stared with shock and horror at Dearka's prone form on the floor.

"Dearka!" Yzak yelled.

"Oh, my God!" Athrun breathed in horror.

"Speak to me, mate," Yzak called out slapping his friend's cheeks simultaneously.

"I didn't mean it," Athrun said desperately.

"Oh shut up," Yzak snapped irritably, as he continued in his attempt to rouse his friend.

"I killed him," Athrun ranted.

"If you do, I'll kill you, too," Yzak replied sharply.

Just then, a soft moan came from Dearka, causing both friends to sigh in relief. They both lifted Dearka to his feet, and slung an arm over each of their shoulders as they half carried, half dragged him inside.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Athrun told Caleb in a clipped voice.

Relieved, thankful, and terrified of the dismissal all at once, Caleb left without another word.

Athrun paced the floor of his study as Yzak slopped a cold cloth wrapped around ice the butler had brought onto Dearka's head. When he had finished, Yzak turned to his friend.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Yzak snapped.

Athrun replied with a glance. Yzak could see the barely leashed wild uncertainty in his friend's green eyes. He ran his fingers into his silver hair in frustration.

Dearka mumbled something under his breath. Yzak moved closer to change the ice cloth on his friend's head. As he did so, Dearka suddenly lurched up and threw his arms around Yzak in a crushing embrace. "My Miriallia," he muttered burying his face in the crook of Yzak's neck.

"What the hell!" Yzak yelled utterly furious and baffled.

Athrun stared with shock as Yzak pried Dearka's arms around him, and let his fist fly.

"Er," Athrun began uncertainly, as Yzak flexed his fingers, "Are you sure you didn't make it worse?"

"He'll survive," Yzak responded curtly. Walking towards the sidewall, he opened the liquor cabinet and uncorking a bottle of whiskey, put the mouth straight to his lips and drank. "This is insane," he muttered taking another swig of the burning liquor. "What's gotten into all of you?"

"Damned if I know," Athrun answered ironically.

Inexplicably, the hit Yzak administered seemed to rouse Dearka from his stupor and groaning loudly, pushed himself up into a sitting position. He shook his head slightly; wincing at the pain he felt throbbing at the center of his forehead and at his left jaw. "I don't know what happened," Dearka began, "but I know you two hit me. Care to tell me why?"

Yzak glared at his friend. "You attempted amorous actions," he snapped. "Whoever this 'Miriallia' is, I can assure you I'm not her," he finished icily.

"Right," Dearka mumbled, blushing. "I see."

Yzak turned his furious gaze over to Athrun. "And you," he snapped. "What's your excuse? Insanity?" he finished, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

Athrun shot him an agonized look. "I need a drink," he said tightly.

Yzak rolled his eyes, and grabbing another bottle of whiskey, hurled it at his friend. Thankfully, he caught it. It took him three huge gulps of whiskey before he felt he would be coherent enough to do any explaining.

"I almost kissed him," he announced starkly.

" 'Him'?" Yzak and Dearka asked in unison.

"My new messenger," he clarified.

His friends looked at him in blank disbelief.

"It's not normal," Athrun muttered taking another swig of whiskey.

His friends still couldn't say anything.

Yzak's dazed blue eyes were unfocused as he stared at his friend. Shaking his head slightly, he took a gulp from his bottle, and attempted to make sense out of that bizarre—and shocking—statement. "Was he the one you threw around?" he asked calmly.

"I did _not_ 'throw him around'," Athrun hissed indignantly.

"It's a metaphor, Athrun," Yzak snapped sarcastically.

"His name's Caleb," Athrun continued jerkily, ignoring Yzak's retort.

Perhaps the blows to his head had somewhat addled his brains, but Dearka's question was straight and up to the point: "Why would you want to kiss him?"

Athrun looked blank for a full minute, before he answered flatly, "I don't know. I just felt" —he ran a distracted hand through his blue hair— "that I had to."

" 'You had to'?" Yzak and Dearka parroted in unison, their voices both abject with disbelief as they regarded their friend.

Athrun closed his eyes in confusion and embarrassment. He had no idea what was wrong with him; not even the prospect of marrying Lacus made him as uptight as he was now. In an uncharacteristic second of pique, he wished Caleb to be as miserable as he was now.

He wasn't so far off the mark; Athrun wasn't the only one confused and irritable after the incident. Caleb was also feeling edgy and jumpy as he walked briskly towards home.

As his luck would have it (he must've broken a mirror in a past life), both Ledonil and Erica were home, and his agitation wasn't lost on them.

"What happened?" Erica asked concerned.

"I don't want to talk about it," Caleb snapped sulkily.

But of course, he talked about it anyway.

"…then he just threw me over his desk—"

"—and had his way with you?" Erica improvised in a shocked voice, as Ledonil spewed his coffee all over the table.

"No!" Caleb shouted. "What are you two thinking?"

"At least we're thinking," Ledonil interjected wiping the mess he had made. _"You_ don't seem to be."

"I'm thinking just fine," Caleb snapped, and stomped towards the doorway to go in the direction of the stairs. Before he could complete his somewhat remarkable exit, the butler appeared in front of him—

"Master Caleb," he began gravely.

"What?" Caleb asked startled.

"A pouch has arrived for you, sir," he answered.

Caleb automatically held out his hand, whereby the butler promptly placed a soft red velvet pouch in it. He stared at the cloth bag in his hand as if it would coil up and strike him.

"It is only a pouch, sir," the butler intones gravely.

Caleb glared at him, and walked around him to climb the stairs up to his room. He slammed the door loudly enough to be heard downstairs by Ledonil and Erica, and flopped down onto the bed with enough force bounce him like a trampoline for about five seconds.

Curious, he opened the lacing that kept the pouch closed and immediately saw a letter inside. Reaching inside, he flipped it open and starting reading—and paling. Shock and disbelief in his face, he put his hand inside the pouch once more and pulled out a beautiful silver ring with an oval ruby embedded in it.

_Caleb:_

_This ring has been passed on in my family for generations, and is given only to someone very special._

_With all my affection,_

Lacus 

"Oh, my God," Cagalli breathed in horror. "This can't be happening. Please God, let this be a dream." She flopped backwards onto the bed, with her arm thrown across her face. "This is a nightmare," she groaned, "I should've drowned at sea. I. Am. In. So. Much. Trouble…!"

A/N 8.2: Special thanks to: Ryo Kazunine—as much as I would love to kill Flay, almost nobody dies in a romantic comedy; purple1—here's you're update, sorry it took so long, I actually finished a couple of days after chapter 7, but I didn't get a chance to post it; Mrs. Nozomu Sohma—I'm glad you think so, I like having all my characters having equal roles; and Swt. Harmony—glad you liked it, and sorry about the shipwrecks, it was just a last minute addition. Next up: we go back to Lacus' entourage. I've decided to kick thing up a notch: steam things up a little… Ja!


	9. Sweeter Than Wine

DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 9.1: This chapter may contain some scenes, which are not appropriate for immature audiences. Reader's discretion is advised.

CHAPTER 9: SWEETER THAN WINE

"Have another one, Azzy, my friend," Sir Andrew Waltfeldt hiccupped jovially as he poured a liberal amount of red wine into Sir Muruta Azrael's glass.

Sir Azrael, his face red from the wine, waved him away. "I don't wannymore," he answered his voice slurred. "You drink too much, Andrew."

Sir Andrew chuckled as he gulped down his own glass of wine. "Ah," he exhaled pleasurably. "Nothing like some wine to clear your head, eh, Azzy."

"My head doesn't seem so clear, Andrew," Sir Azrael remarked barely able to keep his head up.

"When did it ever?" Sir Andrew chuckled heartily, slapping his hand on the table.

"Thazza 'orrid thing to say, Andy boy," Sir Azrael hiccupped.

"But true," Sir Andrew answered cheerfully.

"Izz still 'orrid," Sir Azrael slurred indignantly.

"But still true," Sir Andrew replied. The wonderful thing about conversing with a drunk was the fact that you could insult them all you want without any trouble; after all, they won't remember much come morning.

"Thazz not a nische think to say about your ne-phyoo…" Sir Azrael slurred back, unaware that his drunken voice was growing in volume. "I'll haff my Lacush kick you out, you…"

"Sure, sure," Sir Andrew said dismissively. He took a gulp of wine, just as a sober and indignant feminine voice called out sharply— "Are you both _completely_ unaware that you are both _shouting?"_ —causing him to spurt out the wine he just drunk—straight into Sir Azrael's face.

"Aisha!" Sir Andrew greeted cheerfully, completely ignoring his uncouth transgression.

Aisha, however, had no such compunctions. "Sir Andrew!" she said indignantly.

"Eh?" Sir Andrew inquired, cocking his head slightly to the side. "What's wrong, Aisha, my love?"

Aisha's cheeks flushed, with fury or embarrassment, it was hard to say, but her next words cleared that up: "Don't you try any of your sweet talk on me right now, Sir Andrew. This is neither the time nor the place."

Sir Andrew gazed adoringly at her pretty features, and said _exactly_ the wrong thing any man could possibly say at a moment like this: "You're absolutely beautiful when you're angry."

A pulse pounded in Aisha's temple. "And _you,_ sir, are an absolute degenerate with no exemplary manners of which to speak off. Look at this—" She pointed towards Sir Azrael.

Sir Andrew transferred his glance towards his friend and let out a gasp. "Good God, Azrael! What've you done to yourself?"

Sir Azrael blinked owlishly at him, seeming to have been doused out of his drunken stupor, yet with absolutely no idea of how he should react as of now.

Aisha opened her mouth for a retort at his oblivious protestations, but Sir Andrew wasn't finished making an ass of himself: "Tsk. I should've known you couldn't handle your drink, my good man."

"Sir Andrew!" Aisha shrieked.

"Good Lord, Aisha," Sir Andrew exclaimed startled. "Did a mouse just run across the room?"

"The only rat in this room: is you, Sir Andrew Waltfeldt!" she said, her body rigid, the pulse pounding madly at her temple. "Sir Azrael," she snapped, turning her attention to him, "kindly pull yourself together and proceed towards your room."

After Sir Azrael ambled drunkenly out of sight, Aisha turns the full force of her wrath towards Sir Andrew. "And _you,_ sir— Had better have a very good explanation for your uncouth behavior in the next 5 seconds, or I will be forced to lower the high esteem in which I regard you as a person_ and_ as milady's only remaining relative and guardian. If you care about her at all—"

The rest of Aisha's sentence was abruptly forgotten as Sir Andrew yanked her towards him and pulled her slender body in direct contact with his.

"Sir Andrew!" Aisha cried. "This is highly unacceptable. You are _extremely_ foxed, and—"

"Well, what do you know," Sir Andrew murmured in a husky voice. "I have an excuse to kiss you after all." And with that declaration, he touched his lips to hers.

Though shocked at first, it wasn't long before Aisha was kissing him back. She had always felt a strong affection for Sir Andrew, which she had never expressed to anyone, not even to Lady Lacus, and yet—she had never imagined he had ever seen her as anybody other than his niece's friend and companion.

Sir Andrew was kissing her more deeply now, and pulling her tighter against him. Not that she minded. She had quite forgotten why she was so angry with him, and was pulling him just as tightly towards her. Sir Andrew's kisses moved from her lips, to her cheek, to her neck, and Aisha's knees buckled from the intense feelings that were rioting inside her at this moment.

"Andy," she whispered huskily, abandoning all form of polite address in her impassioned state. Her fingers twined in his soft brown hair, as his lips moved towards the bodice of her gown. He pushed her against the table, and using it as leverage, he nudged her knees apart and settled himself between her thighs. Aisha could feel his heat through the folds of her gown. "This isn't—" she began, only to be cut off as his mouth once more encountered hers.

"You taste so much better than any wine, my dear," Sir Andrew said hotly against her lips.

The mention of wine was like a splash of ice-cold water on Aisha. 'How could I have forgotten?' she thought with mortified humor. 'He's _drunk!'_ Utterly embarrassed and furious at him, Aisha drew back her arm and slapped Sir Andrew full on the face.

The blow caused him to stagger backwards, which gave Aisha enough room to scoot away from him. "You're despicable," she spat, tears glistening in her eyes. "Do you have to be drunk to want a woman?" And with that heartfelt parting shot, Aisha disappeared in a whirl of skirts.

"I don't need to be drunk to want a woman, my darling Aisha," Sir Andrew whispered seductively, and quite soberly, to the room at large. "But I have to be drunk in order to have an excuse to touch you." Reaching for his half-filled glass of wine, he downed the contents in one gulp and let out a curse. "Damn Azrael. I wish he'd just tip his hand, so I can stop hiding mine."

A/N 9.2: Sorry if this chappie was overdue. I'm sorta doing another fic aside from this right now, and I kinds neglected this one a bit. Not to worry, though, I don't plan to jilt this fic. I've decided to take out a character from the original play, which means he won't be appearing in this fic. To those of you who know Twelfth Night, I'm talking about Malvolio, another guy who is in love with Olivia (Lacus). You could say Flay is replacing him as the obnoxious couple breaker in this fic. Hope you enjoyed this short but intense chapter. Ja!

A/N 9.3: Thanks to those 8 reviewers who reviewed the previous chapter. Mrs. Nozomu Sohma: I'm glad you agree with me on the chemistry thing. It brings spice to the story, don't ya think? Glad you also liked the guy fight. An inspired idea, if I do say so myself. purple1: I'm glad you're liking how I'm going with this fic, and thanks for reviewing my Naruto fic as well. TheBetanWerecat: I can't help but smile at your praise and review, it's truly touching and inspiring. Craze Izumi: glad you find it interesting. I do, too. -grins- Cari: don't worry; you'll get it straight in your mind eventually, though you're off to a pretty accurate start. Doctor Kiba: glad you liked Dearka getting bashed and making a fool of himself. One of my fave parts, I can tell ya. Anaid: thanks for the accolade! Muchos gracias! Yukimi noh Daiomoru: uh, I'm really not sure what you're talking about, but thanks for the review. Glad you liked it.


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